


Key Change

by GinAndHarmonic



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinAndHarmonic/pseuds/GinAndHarmonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Before he knows it the Bellas are off the stage and she's confirming that her solo selection was about more than matching up chord progressions and beats per minute." An immediate epilogue, of sorts, to the film.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key Change

**Author's Note:**

> (This was previously published over at fanfiction.net, and may or may not be complete. )

Jesse Swanson was dreaming. Possibly hallucinating. The adrenaline rush of nailing their finals performance had sent him into a state of shock. He had lost his grip on reality. This could not possibly be his life, because, unless he was very much mistaken, Beca Mitchell was singing to him. Emphasis on the to. 

(Also, if he really wasn’t dreaming, he’d have to ask one of the Bellas to work with Treble’s basses. Was that a low C sharp?)

The Bellas’ set is so undeniably her. He’s heard so many hours of Beca Mitchell mash-ups that he can recognize her work anywhere. The genre bending, the transitions, the sampling, the way she takes a line or a beat and puts it in such a radically different context that it means something completely different. Now Don’t You (Forget About Me) isn’t remotely sad or terribly beautiful; it has an energy and a heat and a lust about it. 

Not to mention that she’s eyed him (and almost exclusively him) with the fire of one of Bumper’s projectile burritos through every single body roll and booty-shake. 

(The lone negative comment on their judges’ ballot will turn out to be that she could’ve been more inclusive to the audience. It is her determination, of course, that this is his fault.) 

Before he knows it the Bellas are off the stage and she’s confirming that her solo selection was about more than matching up chord progressions and beats per minute. 

He can’t be quite sure how long they go at it, whether it’s the 20 seconds his rational side says it must be, or whether several stars have been born, faded, and burst into supernova while she smiles into his lips. It takes a cacophony of throat clearances from disgruntled parents whose views they’re blocking (because for some idiotic reason the competition was not called off right then and there), and the opening notes of the next act before they reluctantly break apart. 

“You did the fist pump, didn’t you?” She knows full well he did.

“Hey, I’m the nerd here. It’s expected.”

She barely has time to roll her eyes before the remaining Bellas have engulfed her in a tangle of limbs and squeals and sobs, but he thinks he catches her mouth “later?” in his direction before she gets totally engulfed in Stacie’s ample cleavage. 

 

**********************

 

It’s probably for the best that ICCA’s assigned seats have him between Donald and Benji, because he very much doubts that the general population (not to mention Aubrey Posen) would approve of the display he’d be putting on if Beca was within arm’s reach. He unabashedly chats with his neighbors at every possible opportunity, giving him the opportunity to catch her in his peripheral vision in the row behind. He figures it’s more subtle than doing a full turn and staring, but Benji catches him wiggling his eyebrows at her the third time he asks how many groups are left before the award ceremony, and he completely forgets to respond to the ridiculous small talk he’s started with Donald (which of the Avengers is the most likely to have chlamydia?) because he’s taken up the task of capturing the foot she’s been resting on the back of his chair. 

Subtlety was never really for him anyway.

They’re seranaded by a Josh Groban medley, three different renditions of Some Nights and one not-quite-ironic-enough Friday before the competition has ended and the judges have stolen away for deliberations. Beca gives his dangling wrist a kick, and tells the surrounding Bellas that she needs air. His bicep is brushing against her shoulder by the time she’s made it halfway up the aisle, and he’s talking before she can give him a half-hearted scolding for invading her personal space.

“So help me work out this dilemma that’s been eating me alive”

“What’s that?” she says, not showing the littlest bit of surprise at his sudden appearance. “How the defending national champion Treblemakers were just totally rocked at their own nerd-tastic game?” 

She finally meets his eye and sends him a smirk that was probably aiming for “dismissive” but settles somewhere around “glowing.”

“So not what I meant. But if I had to speculate, it might have something to do with some cheaters bringing in a professional mash-up artist.” It’s as close as he’ll get to complimenting her when her head is as big as it is. “As well as the violent puberty Chloe must’ve had in the last month.”

He earns a thoroughly unattractive snort of laughter for his efforts. “Surgery, you dweeb. But if you’re still confused on the birds and the bees we can fetch my dad.”

“She got a sex change just for an acapella competition? Dedication.”

“No, idiot she had...” A look of mock contemplation crosses her features. “Y’know you might be right, it’s been months since I’ve seen her naked.”

Walking and fully processing the image she’s given him are mutually exclusive, so he stands gaping at her as she walks through the auditorium doors with an eyebrow quirked back at him, the same look she gave him after the riff-off. I mean, you’re welcome.

 

**********************

 

It takes them 20 minutes, thirty autograph requests (wherein Jesse finds Bumper had not been joking in regards to body-signatures), and an interview with the relentless Gayle Abernathy-McKat (How does it feel to be leading your groups at nationals as freshmen? Do you consider yourselves a modern day Romeo and Juliet? Or at least the acapella world’s Kimye?) before they finally have a moment to themselves. He’s not quite sure what to say; the awkwardness of the past few weeks is still somewhat prevalent, and the romantic in him, the one that loves grand gestures, is battling the side that needs confirmation in words without musical accompaniment.

And, mostly, he needs to kiss her again before he spontaneously combusts. Luckily, he’s had about six months practice containing that particular urge. 

“You said something about a dilemma?” She shocks him out of his reverie. “Y’know, back when we were nobodies, and not the second coming of Olivia Newton John and Travolta.”

He grins like a maniac. “Was there a film study course in prison, or has Beca Mitchell started referencing films?” Beca gives him an elbow to the ribs for that one, and he figures that some things never change. Not that he’d want them to. “Right. Dilemma. Well the fact that you put Simple Minds in your set tells me one on two things. One: you watched The Breakfast Club, understood the significance of the song, wept like a child, and loved the ending enough to use it in one of your mashups. This violates the Theory of Beca Mitchell Movie Enjoyment.”

“Oh boy.”

“Or two,” he barrells past her objection. “You haven’t seen The Breakfast Club, and that whole number was a sham in order to get at my weakness for dramatic song and dance declarations. And let me warn you, I am not taken in easily by tricks.” He takes her hand as he says it, though. “My roommate is a certified close-up magician.”

“Y’know you have a habit of personal space invasion.” She raises their clasped hands as if presenting evidence.”

“Like you can say that after the stunt you pulled?”

“You poor soul. Just say the word and I’ll make sure to never put you through something like that again.” He feels her give his hand a gentle squeeze as the sarcasm basically drips off her words.

“Thanks for the offer. It will be taken under consideration.”

She’s smiling, but her eyes dart between his face and her shoes. “Listen, Jesse...” she meets his stare then, and he can tell it’s something she’s been working up the courage to say. 

“Beca, you don’t have to-”

“No, I do,” she presses, firmer now. “I’m sorry. Really I am. You were right about me pushing you away. It’s just...” She pauses. “I didn’t want to come back.”

He raises an eyebrow. “To the Bellas?”

“No. Well yeah. I didn’t want to come back to Barden, period. I wanted to hate it here and just kill time until I could go to LA. I think I took all of it for granted, because suddenly you weren’t around and I was out of the Bellas and I just felt so lonely and, wow, this is the sappiest shit I’ve ever said in my life. So I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve turned into this huge nerd, and since you have first-hand experience with the condition, I was wondering if you could show me the rop-”

Without explicitly telling his various body parts to do so, he’s closed the distance between them, one hand on her waist and one cradling the back of her head, and it hits him: he can just do this now. They may not have a label or a title, and they may not be the next (or the first?) power couple in the aca-world, but they’re together.

He pulls back while still in full command of his senses, because she is still the Beca Mitchell that nearly winced herself to death when he shouted her name across the quad, whatever mania has gripped her today notwithstanding, and they’re still surrounded by rabid fans of non-instrumental music. And anyway, the look of pleasant surprise on her features is the next best thing to leaving his lips connected with hers for several hours.

“So is that a yes?”

He looks over her shoulder in contemplation. “If you let me apologize first.”

“Don’t be an idiot, it was totally my fault.”

“Not for that. We may or may not have made out in front of your father.” 

She whips around and waves meekly at her cheekily smirking father. “Is it too late to take back all the nice things I said about you?”

“Like when you called me a nerd?”

“That exactly.”

“Sorry,” he taps his forehead. “Mind like a steel trap. Compliments non-refundable. Give Doc Mitchell my best, though!”

She pouts, and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. “He’s now seen us together outside a jail and in a compromising position. You might want to come with if you value your reputation.”

“You should know by now that I don’t. Plus, I’ve got parents of my own to find. See you for the big announcement?” 

“Wouldn’t want to miss my own coronation.”

“Your arrogance will be your downfall, Mitchell.”

She rolls her eyes at his dramatics, and he knows as soon as the words are gone that they’re only half-right. The new Beca Mitchell would be his downfall, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
